If you shoot with two guns, I assume that you have practised "giving and taking" with a loader. Otherwise there will be a fine clashing of barrels and possibly an unintentional explosion. The cap and jacket for driving must be of some neutral tint, any white showing is liable to turn the birds. Of course you must be most careful never to fire a side shot within range of the next butt. A beginner is more apt to do this, from being naturally a slow shot at first.
The same rules hold good for partridge-driving, only there you usually stand behind a high hedge, consequently you cannot see the birds approaching. You hear "Ma-a-rk" in the distance, and the next moment—whish! They are over, scattering at the sight of you to right or left; take one as he comes over you, and you may get another going away from you—or a side shot—provided there is no gun lower down whom you run the risk of peppering.
Walking up partridges in turnips affords the same kind of shooting as grouse over dogs; not bad fun when they are plentiful, but hardish work for petticoats! If a hare gets up and bounds away, the moving turnip-tops will be your only guide to her whereabouts, aim rather low, or the chances are you fire over her back. A curious incident once happened when we were partridge shooting. Two hares were put up, and running from opposite directions up the same row they "collided," and with such violence that one broke its neck and the other was so stunned that it was picked up by a beater! The Irishman might with truth have said—"Man, they jostle one anoither." And this in spite of the Ground Game Act!
You will occasionally come across snipe in turnips. They are horrid little zig-zagging wretches! If you wait till their first gyrations are over, they do, for a second, fly straight (for them), and even a 20-bore can sometimes lay them low.
I once shot a quail. I mistook it for a "cheeper" minus a tail, and gazed placidly at its retreating form, murmuring to myself, "too small," when I was electrified by a yell—"Shoot, shoot!" Being trained to habits of obedience, I promptly did as I was told, and brought the "little flutterer" down. A quail in a turnip field! I should as soon have expected to meet one of the children of Israel.
On a winter afternoon, faute-de-mieux, shooting wood-pigeons coming in to roost, is a pastime not to be despised, but it is very cold work. A windy evening is the best; luckily pigeons always fly in against the wind, so you can get on the leeside of the plantation and shoot them coming in, or you can ensconce yourself under the shelter of some fir-boughs near the trees in which they are accustomed to roost. A pigeon takes a lot of killing, he possesses so many feathers; then he has an eye like a hawk, and can turn with incredible speed. If there are several guns in different woods you may easily get 100 in an hour or two, and often many more.
Of the grandest sport of all I grieve to say I can write nothing. I have never had the chance of a shot at a stag. It is not possible to describe a stalk by hearsay only; besides, in my remarks hitherto, I have recorded nothing which has not come within my own actual experience.
I can, however, easily imagine the intense pleasure of being well brought up to within, perhaps, 100 yards of a good stag, the excitement of having the rifle thrust into your hands with a whispered "Tak' time," the cautious raising of the weapon to a rest, the anxious moment as you take your sight and gently press the trigger, and the supreme delight of hearing the "thud" of the bullet as it strikes, and as the smoke clears off, of seeing him stagger a few paces and fall "never to rise again." I forbear to draw the reverse side of the picture.
Of course, in many forests, stalking is quite feasible for ladies, though not within reach of all. I confess I envy those fortunate individuals who have, more than once, compelled some "antlered monarch of the glen" to bow his lofty head and lower his colours at their bidding!
With regard to dress—I believe, for those who can endure the feel, wearing all wool is a great safeguard against rheumatism, chills, and all evils of that ilk. But, on this subject, every woman will of course please herself. I will therefore merely give an outline of my own get-up. A short plain skirt of Harris tweed, with just enough width to allow of striding or jumping, a half tight-fitting jacket to match, with turn-up collar and strap like a cover-coat, pockets big enough to get the hands in and out easily, a flannel shirt and leather belt, or, for smarter occasions, a stiff shirt and waistcoat. Knickerbockers of thin dark tweed, high laced boots with nails, or brown leather gaiters and shoes. If a petticoat is worn, silk is the best material for walking in. I have neither mackintosh nor leather on my dress, I dislike the feel of both. For wet weather, a waterproof cape, with straps over the shoulders so that it can be thrown back, if required, in the act of shooting, is very convenient.